


Blue Ice

by AceServon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 12:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceServon/pseuds/AceServon
Summary: After the events that left Detroit in ruins and Connor being resigned, Hank decides to retire. However, he no longer finds comfort in his loneliness. In desperate search for companionship, Hank finally decides to go against his beliefs and gets himself: an android.As time goes, he spirals into a new addiction, at the same time as a new wave of crime overwhelms the unseen citizens of Detroit.





	Blue Ice

**Author's Note:**

> I threw myself into this project, not expecting people to be so open to it. I however am willing to work on it and give you all something good. Be patient with me, please, as I have not written any fics in over three years. If something is confusing or unclear language wise, people sound off in the comments below. I will answer your questions as best as I can.
> 
> Thank you all for showing interest in this. The prologue is now officially up.
> 
> PS. seems like I have a thing for making android/AI fics. I should get myself checked.

    _“Even hell can get comfy once you’ve settled in,”_ \- but the soiled blankets no longer warmed him. They were drenched in sweat, dried alcohol stains and whatnot. Once you get used to something, you eventually stop seeing it - noticing its presence and affect. It’s like moving to a new city. You appreciate it, you love the view and the breeze, the people and events. You look at life through pink-tinted shades. As you walk the same path for a year, two, maybe a decade, you stop seeing the beauty that was there. Everything smells the same. People’s faces no longer matter. Not that it has disappeared - but you start to wonder if it ever was there to begin with.

    The hardened fabric caressed the rough cheek of the curled up man who wrapped his sheets tighter around himself, forming a comforting cocoon. All for the sake of blocking the world out. A loud barking sound rang in his ears and he tried to shut it out with a pillow, though the sweat felt unpleasant and he was forced to throw it down from the bed.

    “Sumo… (for fucks sake),” he mumbled. “Be a good boy,” he shouted and made a pained face. The ringing sound did not quieten at all. Perhaps shouting was not the best option. A few minutes later, Sumo made his presence known when he pushed the door open to the bedroom of his companion and got on the bed. “Sumo, please…” he rolled over lazily and looked at his dog. The tongue hung out and saliva dripped from the crease of its mouth - matching his master who usually lay passed out every now and then.

    Sumo lay his head on his master’s chest and watched him with big dog eyes, full of warmth and unconditional love. Slowly, the man reached up him and scratched his ear. “Where did we go wrong, Sumo? Where did I go wrong…” He closed his eyes and for a second, he thought he would be hit by the bliss of sleep. That did not happen, as the drill inside of his head started to dig deeper into his skull. Someone was ringing the doorbell.

    Sumo got up and ran to the door, knocking all the air out of the gray-haired man’s chest when he stepped on him. “Jesus fucking Christ-, go away-!” he pressed his palms firmly against his forehead and sat up slowly.

    _“Lieutenant Anderson.”_

He couldn’t connect that name to himself, it felt unreal hearing it after being secluded in his house for the past three months.

Once again, _“Lieutenant Anderson. Hank, open up.”_

Angry and slightly nauseous, he got up, tried to get a firm grip of the floor, failed and tried again. Eventually, he was up and walking clumsily like a drunk sailor on a stormy ship, holding onto the frame of the door. “What is your problem? Didn’t I just say go away?” he said in a hoarse voice, at least hoarser than usual. In front of him was a police officer from the Detroit Police Department, someone he did not recognize.

    “I am sorry to be disturbing you… Lieutenant.” The man looked at Hank from top to toe, wondering whether he actually came to the right address. The man in front of him looked nothing like the description he had gotten, or the photos he had seen on the walls at the department. He looked, frankly, homeless. “Skip the formality. What do you want?” Hank asked and leaned against the door, his vision not the best. The world beyond the officer’s shoulders blended in and floated. “Yes yes, right. We need you at the DPD, sir. You used to be assigned to the deviant cases and-” he did not get to finish as Hank cut him off with a, “Not interested, I retired,” and started to close the door. “Please, sir,” he tried to hold the door but Hank intervened and closed the space between them. “Listen here. I don’t care. If you try anything, I will call my dog on you. Right, Sumo?” he looked back and the great Saint Bernard who barked from inside the kitchen, then back at the officer with a small lopsided smile. The man furrowed his face from the cloud of alcohol that hit his face and took a step back. “Have a good evening, then. Sir.” He tipped his hat and started walking back to his car. Hank let out a chuckle and shut the door, snow falling from the roof down on the porch.

    ‘ _I thought that.. Thought maybe it was him.’_

    He shook his head, dismissing his plaguing thoughts. While going back to his cave of a room, he nearly tripped over a bottle and kicked it aside, it colliding with the rest of the pile. Like bowling pins, they scattered across the wooden floor and cast green and brown light beneath them. Sumo barked at that and pawed over to sniff it.

    With a heavy thud and an even heavier heart, Hank returned to his bed and stared at the wall, not noticing the dryness of his eyes when he spaced out into oblivion, or even the tears that came after it. How much more could his pillow take until it refused to absorb anything at all? Apparently it could fit entire seas, an ocean. _‘When will this end? How much further can I hide myself? Until I no longer can feel anything. Is there enough alcohol in this world to put out my misery with?’_

Ever since Hank retired, or maybe, a bit before that, he had tried to live as he had before he was assigned the deviant cases. In solitude, in peace with himself and at war with the world. Now the war was within him and he had nowhere to hide. Before everything, he liked the silence, now the silence was ringing in his ears and it made life unbearable. If he filled his life with noise, it shattered his head and mind. Perhaps he wanted that. Anything to preoccupy his mind, to take his thought off _him._ A lot had changed. The world around him did not sit around and wait for him to adapt to its current. It swept him up and tried to drown him. Hank was not all too eager to keep his head above the surface either. Androids were in limited use, strictly regulated. No more cleaners, caretakers, builders. No more _investigators._ Of course, out of all that, they had prioritized keeping the sex robots in function. People had forgotten how to interact with each other long ago, but they still needed somewhere to stick _it_ into something.

It made him bitter. “Life’s fucking garbage, and so am I. Garbage…” The word rang a bell. _Garbage._ It sent a jolt through his spine and he got up, a bit too quickly for his body’s liking. Nausea overpowered him and he had to rush to keep it from spilling in the wrong place. Once that was out of the way, he wiped his mouth and got into the shower.

Amazing how little effort can turn a caveman into a person. His eyes were red, but at least he looked and _smelled_ clean. He looked civil enough to be able to show his face to the world again. Not that he gave a shit about the world, but it would benefit him in his cause. The fact that that idea had not hit him earlier dumbfounded him. _Garbage._ While trimming his beard, he glanced at a note that was stuck to the side of the mirror, along with many other colourful notes. It was a simple smiley face. Hank was instantly overwhelmed and felt his heart skip a beat. _‘Has it been three months? It’s a new year… I shouldn’t take new year, new me too seriously…’_

Just a few months back, he felt alive. Now, he had buried himself alive. That a simple note, a perfect smiley face could make him feel these intense emotions, said something about how much the person behind the ink had meant to him. _‘He just vanished without a word.’_ Frowning, he left the bathroom and got dressed. “I will be back soon, Sumo,” he kneeled and hugged his dog before pulling on some boots. “I have to get a grip of myself. I’ve once again forgotten who I was.”

_‘Who I can be.’_

The door flew open and pushed aside the big pile of snow that had fallen on the porch earlier. The cold bit his face and weak limbs, but he did not let it discourage him. Fuck, he was still not sober enough to let the world stop him in his path. The footprints of the officer that had been there had already been covered up, as if he was a ghost or a dream. With those thoughts out of the way, he ventured out.

 


End file.
